“There’s always a chance of death; and it is always well to live with such a chance in view.”
“Yes, yes! but do you think there’s any likelihood that this illness will have a fatal termination?”
“I cannot tell; but, supposing it should, how are you prepared to meet the event?”
“Why, the doctor told me I wasn’t to think about it, for I was sure to get better if I stuck to his regimen and prescriptions.”
“I hope you may, Arthur; but neither the doctor nor I can speak with certainty in such a case; there is internal injury, and it is difficult to know to what extent.”
“There now! you want to scare me to death.”
“No; but I don’t want to lull you to false security. If a consciousness of the uncertainty of life can dispose you to serious and useful thoughts, I would not deprive you of the benefit of such reflections, whether you do eventually recover or not. Does the idea of death appal you very much?”
“It’s just the only thing I can’t bear to think of; so if you’ve any—”
“But it must come some time,” interrupted I, “and if it be years hence, it will as certainly overtake you as if it came to-day,—and no doubt be as unwelcome then as now, unless you—”
“Oh, hang it! don’t torment me with your preachments now, unless you want to kill me outright. I can’t stand it, I tell you. I’ve sufferings enough without that. If you think there’s danger, save me from it; and then, in gratitude, I’ll hear whatever you like to say.”